


Pimples Are Just Weak-Willed Warts

by Official_Biscuit_Moron



Category: Gintama
Genre: Action, Adventure, Crack, Gen, Give Shinpachi More Screentime 2K20, drama ensues, hurrah, kagura and her painfully accurate roasts, pandemonium-san is mentioned, referenced kyuutae, sentient glasses encounter sentient sunglasses, soyo is an enabler bless her heart, toshi being embarrassing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25179028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Official_Biscuit_Moron/pseuds/Official_Biscuit_Moron
Summary: Now, calm down, a small, panicky voice says. They wouldn’t judge you for it. Everyone gets pimples now and then, it’s a totally, completely reasonable, natural thing. Nothing to worry about.They probably won’t even notice, it adds reasonably, after a moment.Shinpachi stares blankly into the bathroom mirror; the pimple stares back.“Yeah right!” he shouts, feeling hysterical. “Of course they’d judge me for this! They judge everyone for everything! That’s what they do!”/ / /Aka Shinpachi wakes up one morning and finds he has a pimple. It all goes downhill from there.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 32





	1. Panic/Frenzy

**Author's Note:**

> in which shinpachi's life is one big pimple

Shinpachi has a pimple.

He’d really rather not have a pimple, but when he woke up this morning, got dressed, and went to the bathroom to wash his face, there it was: a large, red-and-white homing beacon, carefully placed in an extremely visible spot right on his cheek, filling Shinpachi with a frankly overwhelming amount of dread.

This is bad, he can't help but think. What will Kagura-chan, in all her prepubescent glory – Gin-san, with his miraculously perfect skin – say?! How will he face them?! How will his face face them?!

Now, calm down, a small, panicky voice says. They wouldn’t judge you for it. Everyone gets pimples now and then, it’s a totally, completely reasonable, natural thing. Nothing to worry about.

They probably won’t even notice, it adds reasonably, after a moment.

Shinpachi stares blankly into the bathroom mirror; the pimple stares back.

“Yeah right!” he shouts, feeling hysterical. “Of _course_ they’d judge me for this! They judge everyone for everything! That’s what they _do_!”

He breathes heavily, clutching the sides of the sink in a painfully tight grip, still making uncomfortably intimate eye contact with the pimple. He thinks he hears it cackle, faintly.

Suddenly, there’s a startling, earth-shaking, mind-rattling _**BANG**_ on the bathroom door, followed by a heavy silence. Oops, Shinpachi thinks. That’s not good. His shouting has awoken Aneue, and when Aneue is awoken, divine punishment is usually never far behind.

However terrifying this prospect may be, Shinpachi is prepared; this isn’t the first time his yelling has interrupted her sleep, and he’s sure Tae knows it just as well as he does, which only means the punishment, when it comes, will be even more punishing than it usually is. Another _**BANG**_ rattles the dojo, and Shinpachi takes that as his cue to pry open the small bathroom window and painstakingly wriggle out of it. One more _**BANG**_ _,_ accompanied by an ominous _**CRACK**_ _,_ and he’s booking it out of the yard, no set destination in mind – he can’t go to the Yorozuya, for fear of being relentlessly mocked for his unfortunate pimple, nor can he return to the dojo, for fear of merciless retribution. He’ll have to – he winces, still sprinting – _wing_ it, and that never turns out well. It’s only six in the morning, goddammit, and he hasn’t brushed his teeth or his hair and he’s been chased out of his own home and he isn’t wearing any shoes and he’s got a big, obvious pimple on his cheek, proudly displayed for all of Kabukicho to see.

He glances carelessly behind him, and, in that moment, slams full force into a person looking worriedly at their watch, running, and carrying a piece of toast in their mouth, knocking them both to the dirt road – great, another item for his list of grievances: having to wash the dust stains out of his hakama.

“I’m so sorry, Shoujo Protagonist-san,” he blurts. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you? What are you late for?”

“I’m fine, Shinpachi-kun,” Hasegawa replies, “but my toast is on the ground.”

Shinpachi’s instinctively polite attempt to help him to his feet stops abruptly upon seeing who he knocked down.

“That was my meal for today, Shinpachi-kun,” Hasegawa continues despondently. “I spent my last 300 yen on a taxi to chase after a girl who had it in her mouth. I worked hard to get this toast, Shinpachi-kun. I’m being chased by her and the boy she bumped into, and it’s only six in the morning, and they’re much faster than I am. They’re out for my life. What are you going to do about it?”

Shinpachi considers him for a moment; Hasegawa considers him back, having made no effort to raise himself to his feet.

Shinpachi’s out of there before Kagura can say ‘madao.’

* * *

“I have to find a way to get rid of this pimple before Gin-san and Kagura-chan can see it,” Shinpachi pants over the increasingly distant sound of Hasegawa wailing in despair. “This is a matter of...of a _samurai’s dignity_!”

Just as Shinpachi planned, this last phrase serves as perfect bait for the rare, not-so-elusive dirty wig.

Appearing out of nowhere in his usual nonsensical way, Katsura says, “Did someone say ‘samurai’s dignity?’”

“Katsura-san!” the glasses-wearing pimple cries, relieved. “Just the person I was hoping to see!”

Elizabeth waddles out of the alleyway that Katsura had presumably emerged from and raises a sign saying, ‘I think that’s the first time anyone has _ever_ greeted him like that.’ Katsura looks entirely too pleased about the whole situation. He laughs importantly. Shinpachi is too desperate to be annoyed.

“Shinpachi-kun, you should know by now that I am always prepared to guide aspiring young samurai on their journeys to self-discovery! I understand how, in this corrupt world, it can feel like, every day, you're losing a little bit more of your samurai's dignity. I understand — my like-minded Joui comrades and I feel the same, more often than not. So, fear not, Shinpachi-kun, for you are not alone! We are all of one heart! All you need to do is call – or email, or write a letter, or leave an inconspicuously placed bomb at the Shinsengumi’s headquarters – and I’ll be there within 5-6 business days! Now,” he sweeps out his arms in a grand gesture, smiling, “What is it that you want to-”

“Katsura-san, I have a pimple!” Shinpachi says urgently. “Tell me how to get rid of it!”

“It’s not a pimple,” Katsura says, looking, for once, like someone had confused _him_ instead of the other way around, “it’s Katsura.”

“No,” Shinpachi argues, “it’s a pimple, _not_ Katsura, and I need to know how to get rid of it, right now! Herpes me! You’re my only hope!”

“I’m not your only hope, I’m Katsura!”

“Just tell me what to do, Katsura-san! You wear makeup sometimes, right? Isn't that supposed to cause pimples? You must know how to get rid of them, you _have_ to know, you have to!”

“I don’t have to know, I’m Katsura!”

“Katsura-san, please! I need help! Stop being so difficult!”

“I’m not difficult, I’m Katsura!”

Shinpachi lets out a guttural, inhuman scream of frustration – not an uncommon side effect of hanging around Katsura for too long. “Shut _up! God!_ What did I expect him to say?! He’s Katsura-san! Of course he wouldn’t give any useful advice! Dammit, I’m outta here!”

“I’m not outta here, I’m-”

“YOU’RE KATSURA! WE KNOW!” Shinpachi bellows, startling several birds off of Kabukicho’s powerlines, then stomps off to try to find someone else.

“I _am_ Katsura,” Katsura says, flattered. Elizabeth pats his shoulder encouragingly.

* * *

A few minutes of dedicated stomping later sees Shinpachi no further in his quest to find a helpful person. It’s not like it’s surprising, or anything – it’s around 6:30 in the morning, and Kabukicho is more of a night town; plus, even if he did find someone, everyone he knows is both a) an insufferable idiot and b) very decidedly _not_ helpful.

“Gin-san and Kagura-chan are probably eating breakfast right now,” Shinpachi mutters jealously, looking at his socks; they're definitely ruined from all the running around he’s been doing. Figures. He kicks a small rock, which adds a sharp, stinging pain to his already sore feet.

He almost misses the eyepatch and black ponytail because of this distraction, but calls out at the last moment, teeth gritted in agony.

“Kyuubei-san! Hey, Kyuubei-san!”

Kyuubei startles and turns to look at him, holding a large bag. “Oh, good morning, Shinpachi-kun,” they say, giving him a small smile, then continue walking.

The boy stares dumbly for a minute, then chases after them.

“No, no, wait, Kyuubei-san! I need your help!”

“Really?”

“W- Yes, _really_! I’m in obvious distress!”

Kyuubei casts a nervous glance at the bag clutched tightly in their hand, then says, hesitantly, “I... suppose I can spare a minute or two to help you. Why are you in distress, Shinpachi-kun?”

Shinpachi breathes a sigh of relief, beaming brilliantly at his savior. “You see, Kyuubei-san,” he begins, “I have a pimple. And I don’t know how to get rid of it. Ane-ue’s probably mad at me, so I can’t ask her about it, and I can’t ask Gin-san or Kagura-chan.”

“Why can’t you ask Gintoki or Kagura-chan?”

“Because they’ll laugh at me.”

Kyuubei thinks about it, then thinks about it some more, then nods gravely. “That’s true.”

“Yes! You understand!” Shinpachi laughs.

“So why do you need me?” Another nervous look to the bag, then to the end of the street.

“Ah, right, right! I need to know how to get rid of a pimple! Fast! Help me, Kyuubei-san! _Please_!”

Kyuubei looks a little shocked at the intensity of Shinpachi’s plea – they seem torn between coming to his aid and whatever’s in the bag and down the road.

“I-” they hesitate.

“Please, Kyuubei-san, whatever advice you’ve got, I’ll take it!”

Kyuubei glances once more at the bag, then looks up with a determined face.

“Don't worry, Shinpachi-kun,” they say, and Shinpachi feels tears of gratitude welling up in his eyes. “I will help you however I can.”

“ _Thank_ you, Kyuubei-san!”

Kyuubei draws their sword, eliciting several shocked gasps from passersby.

“Shall I cut it off, then?”

“Um-?!”

“Shinpachi-kun,” Kyuubei’s eyes flick from the bag to the road to Shinpachi, “I made Tae-chan breakfast in bed, and I can’t afford for it to get cold, or for it to arrive when she’s not in bed anymore. That would be unsatisfying, Shinpachi-kun!”

Shinpachi decides not to tell Kyuubei that Tae had already woken up in an extremely unsatisfying way.

“What does that have to do with you trying to _cut_ my pimple off?! With a sword?!”

“This is the fastest solution I could come up with! Don’t you want to be pimple-free?”

“Uh, yes,” Shinpachi shrieks, “but I don’t want to be _face-_ free! Can’t you think of something better?!”

“You don’t understand! I don’t have the time! Tae-chan deserves only the best breakfast in bed!” they cry desperately, waving the sword around. Kyuubei’s a skilled swordsperson, so, even in their intense anxiety, it doesn’t slice anyone up, but it sure does draw a lot of apprehensive looks.

Oh no, Shinpachi realizes.

I’ve backed us into a corner.

Kyuubei-san’s innate kindness and desire to help is warring with Kyuubei-san’s undying love for Aneue; two fundamental parts of Kyuubei-san.

They shouldn’t be pitted against each other.

"Should I cut it off or not, Shinpachi-kun?!" Kyuubei asks him frantically.

Shinpachi makes a decision.

“Don’t cut off my pimple!” he screeches.

“What do I do then?!” Kyuubei yells.

“Go bring Ane-ue her breakfast!” Shinpachi yells back, then adds, closer to a normal volume, “I can feel the pimple shrinking in fear of your sword, Kyuubei-san! It’ll be gone, soon!”

“Really?” Kyuubei asks, surprised, looking carefully at their sword.

“Yeah! It’s nearly gone!”

“Truly?”

“Yes!” he jabs excitedly at a clear, pimple-free patch of skin. “Look! Thank you, Kyuubei-san!”

“Oh,” they say, looking perplexed but pleased. “I’m glad I was able to help, Shinpachi-kun. I-”

Their eyes widen in horror, darting to the large bag.

“Good-bye, Shinpachi-kun,” they call, already half-way down the street, jogging rapidly. “Good luck with pimples! Uh- _future_ pimples! That is, if you have them! Which I hope you don’t! But if you do! Good luck!”

Shinpachi waves; then, once Kyuubei’s disappeared in the direction of the dojo, sighs. It was nice seeing/being threatened by Kyuubei, but he’s no closer to finding a solution to his pimple problem. This is becoming depressing.

 _Maybe I should just go to the Yorozuya_ , he thinks forlornly.

Then he could borrow some shoes and new socks – or, even better, just sit inside, where it isn’t so chilly. He’s been out in the chill, shoeless, pimply, harassed by various idiots, for at least 45 minutes. He’d like to go inside, pimple or no pimple. Sure, Gin-san and Kagura-chan might mock the pimple, but that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing – Shinpachi isn’t feeling all that great about the pimple either. Maybe the pimple deserves a little bit of mocking. Maybe _that_ would make the pimple go away.

“Hey,” a voice says, startling him out of his reverie, deep and suspicious.

“Oh, hi there, Hijikata-san,” Shinpachi says blandly. “Nice of you to pop in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading!!! <3 (can you tell i love kyuubei with all of my wordly being)
> 
> (hello,, hello, here is a petition to support blm: http://chng.it/d2fWbtPGGs)


	2. Hopelessness/Hopeful Delusion

“What’s all this ruckus about?” Hijikata asks, eyes narrowed, looking around at the nearly empty street – Kyuubei’s sword-brandishing had quickly driven off most pedestrians.

“Hijikata-san, did you really just say ‘ruckus?’” Shinpachi says, without his usual fervor. “Are you an irritated mother who was just woken up by her kids at an ungodly time in the morning? What are you even doing here?”

“I heard someone shout something about a sword. Is someone not following the sword ban? At this ungodly time in the morning?” he says, then mutters, face set in an irritated scowl, eyes still sweeping the street warily, “Bastards. And on my day off, too.”

Shinpachi sighs. He searches unenthusiastically for a plausible explanation.

He can't find one.

“It was a guardian spirit," he says. "They became visible for a moment and everyone freaked out.”

“Wait, what? A.. _guardian spirit_? Whose guardian spirit? How did they become visible?”

Shinpachi gives him a wan smile. “My sister’s. And they were feeling very.. conflicted. In.. times of distress, um, guardian spirits, they, uh, they can’t control their.. uh, their invisibleness, and so they lose the invisibleness and without the invisibleness they become- well, um." He shrugs. "Visible.”

“...Oh. Right, of course. I knew that. Definitely." Hijikata shifts uneasily, pretending to assess the road in front of him in what he probably thinks is a professional-looking manner. "Ahem. Right. What- what kind of guardian spirit was it? And, hey, how come you know all this?”

“Um, well, you see, Hijikata-san, you _see,_ ” the boy stalls, trying half-heartedly to come up with something believable, “Um.. it was.. the.. lesbian.. protection..? Guardian spirit? Yes. Yep, absolutely, it was the lesbian protection guardian spirit. You know the one. Right. Right? Defeater of all homophobes and gorilla stalkers?”

Hijikata regards him for a moment, then turns away and clears his throat. “Oh, _that_ guardian spirit,” he says, nodding, and pulls out a cigarette.

 _Don’t try to act like you know what I’m talking about!_ Shinpachi thinks viciously, noting Hijikata’s shifty eyes and tense posture. _I completely made that up! You’re a terrible liar, Hijikata-san!_

“But you still never answered my other question,” Hijikata says quickly. “How come you know all this, huh? Kind of sketchy, if you ask me.”

He looks around again, avoiding Shinpachi’s eyes, arms crossed defensively, tapping one foot, holding the wrong end of the cigarette in his mouth, two bottles of mayonnaise just barely peeking out of his yukata, and coughs.

 _Hijikata-san,_ Shinpachi thinks, _You’re the picture of sketchiness_ _. I've never seen someone look so sketchy._

“Well,” he bullshits – he's quickly becoming a pro, if he wasn't one already – “I.. Uh, I _also_ have a guardian spirit, that talked to the lesbian protection guardian spirit, and my guardian spirit told me all about the other guardian spirit. So that’s how I know. About guardian spirits.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

 _Um, n_ _o!_ _No,_ _it really doesn’t!!_

“Hey.. I was thinking. Your guardian spirit wouldn’t happen to be that thing on your face, would it?” Hijikata gestures, unhelpfully vague, at Shinpachi’s entire face. Shinpachi rolls his eyes; he’s been Gintama’s straight man for long enough to know what’s coming.

“No, Hijikata-san,” he says wearily, “it’s not my glasses. They’re just glasses, really. That’s all they are.”

“No, no,” Hijikata waves him off, and gestures again, pointing.

“On your cheek. That pimple-looking thing.”

“Ah,” Shinpachi says, “You mean my pimple.”

“Yeah, the pimple-looking thing.”

“Oh, crap,” he says, more seriously, “You mean my _pimple._ ”

“So it’s just a pimple? Where’s your guardian spirit, then? Does it still have its invisiblene-”

“ _HIJIKATA-SAN!_ ” Shinpachi bellows, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him violently. “ _MY PIMPLE!_ ”

Hijikata looks at him with wide eyes, trying in vain to shove Shinpachi’s hands off. “Uh- Pimple? Who- who said anything about a pimple?”

“ _No,_ Hijikata- _san,_ ” he shakes him again, hard enough that the cigarette falls out of his mouth. “ _You have to help me!_ Help me be free, Hijikata-san, I need to be free!”

“What?! Is someone holding you against your will!?”

“My _pimple,_ _”_ Shinpachi says wildly, hoping that covers it - apparently, it doesn’t, because Hijikata still looks perplexed.

“Your pimple is holding you against your will?! _”_

“ _NO_ , I need to get rid of it! It has to go, Hijikata-san!”

“I-”

“It has to go _now,_ ” he urges.

“Fine, I got it, I got it!” Hijikata finally manages to free himself from Shinpachi’s iron grip. “I’ll help you, jeez, just calm down.”

“H-Hijikata-san!” Shinpachi hiccups tearfully, resisting the urge to throw himself at him in gratitude.

“Shit- Don’t cry, seriously, you better not cry- look, look! I’ll get rid of it! I can get rid of it! I know how to get rid of it! Here, just,” he quickly pulls something out of his sleeve. “Just-”

“Hijikata- _san_ ,” Shinpachi interjects, sobbing.

“-jeez, oh my god, look, just put some of this on! It’ll be gone in an hour! Less than an hour! So fast! Seriously!”

Shinpachi wipes his eyes and gratefully holds out a finger; Hijikata squirts a small dollop of mayonnaise onto it.

“You just dab it on the pimple,” Hijikata explains, poking demonstratively at his own face, “And then leave it on for a while. And then it won’t be there anymore. You see?”

A little bit of mayo drips off of Shinpachi’s finger, but Hijikata instinctively reaches out and catches it before it can hit the ground, plopping it back into the boy’s hand.

“Mayonnaise has natural healing properties, because of the protein from the egg,” he says, and tucks the bottle back into his sleeve. “It purges all impurities from both the body and the mind.”

Shinpachi stares blankly at the mayonnaise; the mayonnaise stares back.

“I promise,” he says, giving Shinpachi a rare smile. “It’ll be gone before you know it.”

Shinpachi winds up like a major league pitcher and lobs the dollop of mayonnaise as hard as he possibly can down the street, leaving Hijikata - who’s screaming as though _he’s_ the one hurtling through the air at mach 10 - to dash after it.

Wiping his hand off on his already dirty hakama, Shinpachi continues on his merry quest to find _one_ sane person in all of Kabukicho.

* * *

It’s a while before he bumps into anyone else. Such a while, in fact, that Shinpachi’s losing his last vestiges of hope, the hope he didn’t even know he still had left - he can only take so much more of this, you know, before going insane. He’s already going a little bit insane, probably, given that he’s seriously considering shaving his head, changing his name, and moving to the nearest active volcano - at least there, he and his pimple could live in peaceful solitude before going out in style.

He’s... starting to feel a little bit bad for the pimple, actually. He’s been running around, trying to get rid of it, for like 3,000 words – that can’t be a good feeling for anyone. He knows that feeling; he can sympathize.

Poor Pimple-san, he thinks.

She just wanted a place to stay for a while. Could Shinpachi really deny her that? Could he, knowing she needed one so badly, deny her that? Curse his bleeding heart, he really couldn’t. Poor, poor Pimple-san, helpless, alone, hunted by loan sharks, had to take up residence in the first place she could find - it’s not her fault that her father’s business went out of business and they fell deeply into debt, barely able to find enough food to eat from day to day. It's not her fault that her mother died from being popped while she was only a child. It’s not her fault that they had to sell their house, and were living on the street. Pimple-san needs somewhere to come back to, Shinpachi tells himself. Pimple-san needs a warm home. I can give her that. But, most of all? Well, he thinks; most of all, Pimple-san needs a friend.

Shinpachi catches a glimpse of himself and Pimple-chan in a window he passes, and can’t help but stop and blush – they actually make a pretty cute couple. Turning to a flattering 45 degree angle, he gives himself a roguish smile. This could work out. He and Pimple-chan, taking on the world together; it would be a simple life, but a happy one - and isn’t that really all that matters?

A couple of kids, running pell-mell down the street, bump into him, nearly knocking him over – he looks around for the culprits, hearing, as he turns to face them,

“Haha, look at that pimple! It’s taking over his face! Eating it right up, watch out!”

“Kagura-chan- hehe- don’t say that! That’s so mean!”

“It’s okay, Soyo-chan,” she says, waving her off, smirking, “I know this four-eyes. What’s up, Shinpachi! Where’d you meet that friend of yours, huh?”

 _Screw Pimple-chan,_ Shinpachi decides suddenly, inexplicably.

“Did you fall in love with it like you fell in love with the pandemonium?” Kagura asks curiously, and upon seeing the face Shinpachi makes at that, starts grinning in an entirely too maniacal way. “Ahaha! Shit! He did, he did! He fell in love with a pimple! With a _pimple_! That's even worse than the pandemonium!”

“Um, could you not say something so incriminating in such a public place!?” Shinpachi shrieks, humiliated, but Kagura only cackles.

Soyo tugs at Kagura’s arm, looking like she’s trying to decide whether to laugh or to tell her off. “Kagura-chan! We were going to the park!”

“Oh, right, yes! I nearly forgot, thanks, Soyo-chan,” she says, then yells, waving happily, “Bye, Patsuan!! Have fun with your girlfriend, okay?”

“Shut up, Kagura-chan! Shut up!”

Kagura throws him a wink and runs off, grabbing Soyo’s hand – though they make it only a couple of paces before she whirls around again.

“Shinpachi,” she says innocently, eyes flashing with malicious intent, “If you really want the pimple to go away, you should pop it. That’s what I heard. I heard that when you pop it, it never comes back, never ever!”

She grins and continues pulling Soyo down the street. Soyo, while walking away, makes a vehement ‘no!’ gesture over her shoulder at Shinpachi, looking significantly at the pimple, before turning back to Kagura and smiling. He hears her ask, faintly, “What’s a pandemonium?”

Shinpachi buries his face in his hands; Pimple-chan is a comforting and familiar presence on his cheek.

“END IT ALL,” he wails mournfully. “PIMPLE-CHAN AND I WILL GO DOWN TOGETHER! I want to die by the side of the only person who loves me! Pimple-chan and I, together till the end! That's how it should be!”

A woman several meters away says, surprised, “You want to end it all? Tsukki, he says he wants to end it all. Should we end it all for him? We’d really be helping him out - I think he wants to end it all.”

Another woman responds, “I don’t know. Maybe? I guess.. We should ask him, first. Hey!”

Shinpachi doesn’t bother looking at them, or being shocked. He already knows who it is. He already knows how this will go down.

“Sacchan-san, Tsukuyo-san,” he mumbles into his hands. “Good morning. Have you come to make me even more miserable?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot twist, kyuubei _is_ the lesbian protection guardian spirit, come down from the heavens to bless us all
> 
> (hello again! here's another petition to support blm: http://chng.it/j5NJKdCc4g)


	3. Despair

Tsukuyo looks slightly caught off guard. Her eyes flick awkwardly from Pimple-chan to Shinpachi’s eyes to Sacchan, who, for her part, has crossed her arms smugly and developed a knowing smirk; she prepares herself with a sharp, breathy inhale. Shinpachi crumples gently to the ground, plugging his ears. Tsukuyo shoos away the group of children playing on the street near them.

‘Shinpachi-kun, even if we weren’t here, you’d be completely miserable, since no girl wants to date you. Your downward spiral would keep spiraling,“ she says wisely, at an excruciating volume. “Life is only going to get worse from here, Shinpachi-kun. That’s what happens when you grow into an adult, and the weight of responsibility comes slamming down on your back. Slamming, and pounding, and thrusting, like Gin-san slamming the cupboard door in my face this morning—when he discovered me there, bound with silken ropes — with such sadistic, indecent fervor, like the obscene pounding of my head on the trash can when he thrust me into it, while I writhed, while I squirmed—what an exquisite, devastating experience it was, to feel that pain, spreading lavisciously throughout my skull—” Tsukuyo says something, here, one eyebrow raised in an incredulous arch, but it’s completely inaudible under Sacchan’s ear-splitting voice. “—to roll down the stairs, hitting each step, one after the other, relentless, seemingly endless, each impact racking my fragile, feminine body with lewd shudders; to feel each bump, each bruise, with a hot, rousing agony.” 

She shudders again, in remembrance. "You done, Sarutobi?" Tsukuyo asks, but Sacchan only bulldozes over her. “Pain is so close to pleasure. Or- Well, pain actually is pleasure, as all adults are well aware of, all men, women, acquainted, involved in a sexual relationship—a deeply twisted, forbidden, sado-masochistic relationship, one the submissive, forever succumbing to the whims of the powerful, cruel dominant—stalker, stalkee, as _Gin-san_ and I are aware of-”

A kunai zooms through the air. The Courtesan of Death sighs out a plume of smoke.

“Sorry I didn’t do that sooner,” Tsukuyo says gruffly, then takes a drag from her pipe while Shinpachi tentatively removes his fingers from his ears. “And sorry you had to see all that. Why d’you wanna end it all? I mean," she amends, "Other than because Sarutobi was talking.”

“Well,” says Shinpachi. 

He doesn’t get much further than that. An enraged, “ _Tsukki!_ ” is the only warning they get before Sacchan is careening back into the scene, screeching like a madwoman, brandishing the kunai as if it's a flag of war.

“You’re a madwoman,” Tsukuyo observes tiredly. Sacchan somehow manages to shout incoherently and grind her teeth at the same time, looking like she’s torn between thorough enjoyment (at having a sharp object thrown at her) and rage (at Tsukuyo’s unflapped demeanor). To the pair of them, over the impossible crescendo of Sacchan’s voice and Tsukuyo’s accompanying — and also rising — irritation, Shinpachi calls, “Could you stop yelling? I know that's kind of hypocritical for me to ask, but..”

It doesn’t quite have the impact he intends it to. Tsukuyo’s casually crossed arms have been rather reluctantly un-crossed, and one of her hands has grabbed Sacchan by the front of her scarf. Her expression is entirely, wearily calm except for her brow, which is creased in regret — at ever having met Sacchan, possibly, at walking down this street with her at this time in the morning, maybe, at the grinning frenzy with which Sacchan has reacted to Tsukuyo’s tight grip on her scarf, definitely and assuredly. Every attempt to quiet her leads to some sort of obscene gesture, whether from Sacchan’s hands or her mouth, which is a rapid and excitable blur.

Shinpachi sighs. Places his chin in the palm of his hand. Contemplates the large patch of strangely moist dirt his gentle crumple to the ground had led him to fall into, then, again, the time it will take to wash the stains out of the cloth of his hakama.

Another sigh escapes him.

He mumbles, tracing out a solemnly cracked heart with one finger, ”Please don’t shout so loud, it disturbs both me and Pimple-chan.”

Sacchan stops abruptly, mid-yell, turns to him, and says slyly, “Is that what you’re calling it?”

Tsukuyo's hand is wrenched from Sacchan’s shirt, returned to her side, then to her pipe, which is reintroduced to her mouth with profound relief. Thick clouds of smoke quickly populate the air in front of her. Shinpachi's gaze remains fixed on the broken heart until a kunai punches swiftly into the dirt, directly through the middle of it; he looks up, and meets Sacchan's gaze.

“Oh, hello. By 'it', do you mean Pimple-chan?"

"Sure," says Sacchan.

"I’ve come to live with her. Pimple-chan,” he gestures, first to the haze of smoke, then to Sacchan’s growing smirk, “Tsukuyo-san, Sacchan-san.”

“The -san isn’t necessary, Shinpachi-kun. I’ve told you.”

“This is Pimple-chan,” says Shinpachi. “I want to get rid of her — or, at least, I did, until I realized she’s the only kind person I’ve ever met.”

“That’s not a person, Shinpachi-kun. That’s a pimple. Are you talking about a pimple like a human being? Like a girlfriend?”

“Our love is a tragic and forbidden one,” he mutters to the patch of dirt. “But I’m alright with that, since it’s also the only love I’ll ever feel.”

"You.." Tsukuyo says. Shinpachi sniffles. He and Pimple-chan have had a hard morning.

The two women look vaguely alarmed. Tsukuyo contemplates him for a moment, eyes skimming over his face, then her expression softens reluctantly and she exchanges a glance with Sacchan—a little out of her depth, but willing to help anyway.

“Now, that just ain’t true,” she says softly, the smoke clearing around her face. Her finger taps out a nervous beat against the smooth wood of her pipe. “You got plenty of time for love,” she adds, sounding a bit strained.

“Tsukki’s right, for once in her life,” says Sacchan. “You’re only a kid, Shinpachi-kun, don’t feel like this is the end. You’ll have plenty of time to get into intense, sado-masochistic rolepla—” Tsukuyo elbows her sharply. “—fine, love, I mean love, later, once you're older. Don’t feel bad, okay?”

“But I'm 16. I’m basically grown up,” he says gloomily. Sacchan waves him off, frowning. 

“No, you're not. That's ridiculous. You're a teenager, Shinpachi-kun, you've still got a lot of growing up to do.”

Tsukuyo nods. “You got a long life ahead of you. The world ain’t gonna end just because of that pimple.”

“That actually..” he starts. Stops. Tsukuyo and Sacchan look at him expectantly, Tsukuyo’s shiny boot tapping out a swift rhythm into the street—or, at least, it is until Sacchan crushes it with her own foot. Without hesitation, Tsukuyo’s fist makes efficient, pointed contact with Sacchan’s ribcage. “Wait.”

“What?” Sacchan stomps again, harder, but her foot only touches the ground. She grimaces, dissatisfied.

“Why am I listening to you two? I guess.. That sounds like good advice, actually. That I’ve got time to find love. But you both have a crush on Gin-san, for some reason—” Tsukuyo blushes and blocks the kunai Sacchan sends flying toward her throat. “—and Sacchan-san is a stalker. And also, she’s just weird. Tsukuyo-san, you’re not so bad—you're really cool, actually—but you also have a crush on Gin-san. At least, I think you do, and that isn’t understandable at all. I don’t get it. Am I supposed to relate to you two? And.. Wait. Hold on," he says, with growing clarity. "I.. I just wanted to get rid of a pimple! When did this get into deep talks about love? And why am I listening to _you_ two give me deep talks about love?”

“Because—” Sacchan pulls out another kunai. “—we’re responsible adults, and we’re giving out reasonable advice.”

“I guess I can get on board with the ‘reasonable’ bit, but still, you’re nowhere near responsible,” Shinpachi muses. “Actually, probably the opposite of responsible, Sacchan-san, unless you count stalking Gin-san an act of responsibility." Sacchan looks at him pointedly.

Shinpachi closes his eyes, feeling a sudden wave of tiredness overtake him. "Oh, right," he remembers. "You do.”

Tsukuyo blocks another kunai, sends her own flying with a sharp, metallic _whoosh_ , her eyes shut in an expression of mortified embarrassment. With deft fingers, Sacchan plucks it from the air and hurls it to the street—kicks out a leg to sweep under Tsukuyo’s feet that she wearily hops over—where it clinks and clatters and skids to a stop at the tip of a black boot.

The boot nudges it lazily. Shinpachi notes the splodge of curry near the toe, the gentle ring of dog shit underneath one heel, the shiny silver buckle over the top of it. Several more kunai fall to the ground.

Sacchan's roar rips through the peaceful morning air.

“GIN-SAN!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh, i'm not feeling very confident in my characterization of these two, so tell me how i did/what i could do better!! i love sacchan and tsukki with all my heart and i would like to do them justice!
> 
> (howddddy! here's another petition to support blm: http://chng.it/LGBsmj4wXH)


	4. Despair Pt. 2

The echoes of her shout ringing in his ears, Gintoki nimbly dodges Sacchan, who has thrown herself toward him with intense, feverish ecstasy—she twists, catlike, in midair and intercepts him, latching onto his arm, but is quickly shaken off. A skillful back handspring saves her from face-planting into the ground, her body flipping over and over itself, up and down in high, graceful arcs.

A kunai slips innocently out of her belt. Mid-flip, Sacchan's foot hits it.

As she lands neatly on her feet several meters away, it flies, with pinpoint precision—and in, Shinpachi feels, unnecessarily dramatic slow motion—into the center of Gintoki’s forehead. 

A beat of silence, then blood begins to flow in a generous river down his face, parting over his nose. He crumples gently to the ground. Shinpachi puts his head in his hands. Tsukuyo sighs a long, pained sigh, a sigh that indicates she’d really rather be anywhere else right now; Sacchan, for her part, lets out another roar, horrified instead of delighted like her last one.

“GIN-SAN!” she cries, running over and taking his limp body into her arms. She wails and shakes him—his eyes open at that, widen in alarm and confusion, then quickly roll back into his head upon being confronted with Sacchan’s tearful face—then shoots a murderous glare at Tsukuyo. “Tsukki _,_ how _could_ you?!”

“Wha-” Tsukuyo chokes on her pipe and sputters, “How could _I_? The hell are you talking about! You’re the one who stabbed him!”

“You’re a liar, Tsukki, a nasty bitch of a liar! Look what you’ve done to him!” Sacchan thrusts Gintoki’s arm into the air and waves it accusingly at her. “Look at him, Tsukki! He’s all floppy! Where has all his sadistic flair gone, Tsukki, where is that cruel, indecent, that positively _pornographic_ light in his eyes?! It’s gone, that’s where it is! Gone! His eyes can’t undress me anymore, Tsukki! My clothes will never be viciously, mentally ripped from my body ever again! You’ve killed him! You’ve killed my love!”

“Sacchan-san-”

“Shut up, Four-eyes!” sobs Sacchan, tears falling heavily onto Gintoki’s chest—she’s curled herself around him as if, so long as she shields him thoroughly enough, the Grim Reaper won’t be able to take him to the afterlife. Shinpachi shuts up. Gently, Pimple-chan consoles him.

“Gintoki ain’t dead, dumbass,” Tsukuyo says angrily. “He ain’t gonna die from a kunai in the head! And besides, don’t be putting all the blame on me, _you’re_ the one who sent the kunai at him! I didn’t do nothing to him, I was just standing here!”

“I didn’t throw anything at Gin-san except my love! I’m not the S in this relationship!”

“ _Relationship?!_ ”

“Yes, relationship!” Sacchan bellows. Gintoki’s hand flops around to help emphasize her point. “A mutual and sadomasochistic relationship! Our love was pure and true!”

“Yeah, 'pure,'right.”

Reluctantly, Sacchan concedes, “Alright, it may not have been pure, but it _was_ true! Naughty and true, maybe! Nasty and obscene and true!”

“Sacchan-san,” Shinpachi perseveres, bolstered by Pimple-chan’s lovingly unconditional encouragement, “It was your kunai that hit Gin-san in the forehead.”

She clutches Gintoki’s body tighter, rocking back and forth. “Shut _up,_ Four-eyes!”

“He’s right, Sarutobi,” Tsukuyo confirms, walking over to stand beside Sacchan and Gintoki. “It was your goddamn kunai, don’t act like it wasn’t.”

“You’re both lying, you’re both filthy liars, I would never hurt Gin-san, I would never stab him-”

Tsukuyo’s shiny boot prods Gintoki in the side. Sacchan tries to slap it away, but Tsukuyo only does it again. “Just cause you did it doesn’t mean you meant to. Just accept it, Sarutobi. You stabbed him. Oh, and look; he’s moving.”

Sacchan stops her sobbing and shaking to watch Gintoki’s unconscious face contort into a vague, sleep-addled grimace. Tentatively going over to stand next to Tsukuyo, Shinpachi observes with them as Gintoki’s eyelids flutter and then snap open. His eyes dart around frantically.

Upon waking, Gintoki attempts a forward roll off of Sacchan’s lap and onto the street. Since Sacchan redoubled her sobbing and shaking the moment he opened his eyes, it doesn’t really work, but that doesn’t stop him from attempting it several more times. The volume and frequency of Sacchan’s sobs increases steadily. 

Tsukuyo reaches down and plucks the kunai out of his head. “Sorry about all this, Gintoki.”

“What’s going on?” he asks wildly, trying again to roll onto the ground. “Why am I being assaulted first thing in the morning? I have rights, you know!”

“Have I become the S?!” wails Sacchan. “I thought I was the M! But I stabbed you, Gin-san! A good M enjoys experiencing pain, not causing it! Have I become the S?!”

Tsukuyo shoves at Sacchan with her boot, grabbing Gintoki’s arm and trying to pull him out of her clutches. “Gintoki, your head’s okay? I know you got a thick skull, but still. Sarutobi don’t know her own strength.”

“Fuck off, Tsukki, I didn’t even- Did I throw it? Maybe I did. Have I subconsciously developed sadistic tendencies? Maybe I have, but- No, I can’t have- No, no, that’s not possible-”

“Gin-san, I have a pimple,” Shinpachi adds morosely. “Help me, would you?”

Tsukuyo pulls fiercely, but Sacchan only clings tighter. “Let him go! Look, he’s alive, stop mourning him! Why’ve you gotta be so difficult all the time?!”

Dully, Shinpachi says, “There’s a pimple on my face, Gin-san.”

“Gin-san, ignite my masochistic spirit! Insult me! Berate me! I- I can’t have become the S, that can’t have happened, Gin-san, our relationship has come undone, Gin-san, my _world_ has come undone, everything’s falling apart at the seams- My very reason for being- I- I thought _I_ was the M, what do I do? Gin-san-”

“Shut up, Sarutobi! You stabbed him. That’s that, it’s over and done with.” Tsukuyo yanks at his arm again while Sacchan shrieks wordlessly.

“Gin-san, pimple,” Shinpachi says.

Gintoki has a vigorous internal battle with himself, an urgent debate as to whether or not to pretend he never woke up in the first place. However, even the vigor of his battle pales in comparison with the vigor of the external battle going on between Sacchan, Tsukuyo, and Shinpachi (who has joined in the effort to free him from Sacchan’s grasp). A vein has started to pulse in Tsukuyo’s brow, Shinpachi’s screaming something about a pimple, and Sacchan’s just screaming—everything’s going downhill, and quickly. It’s beginning to seem as though he might get torn in half.

Once this realization comes to him, he bravely decides to take action and prepares himself for a leap to freedom. Painstakingly, he sits up as best he can. He finds tentative footing. He takes a steadying breath.

It really is unfortunate that his brave decision happens to coincide with Tsukuyo and Shinpachi’s final, violent heave. He kicks himself upward with all of his might—unwittingly combined with the formidable might of the leader of the Hyakka and the less formidable might of a teenage samurai—and breaks free, soaring, flying; Sacchan’s hands are ripped from his shirt as he ascends, not a star in heaven that he can’t reach. 

A breathless moment passes where Gintoki is suspended in midair, hair swirling around his face, victorious expression frozen in the middle of its shift to horror. Tsukuyo looks mildly surprised. Shinpachi and Pimple-chan stare in awe at the arc Gintoki cuts through the air. Sacchan gasps in horror.

He lands, with a wet plop, in Sadaharu’s open mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI!!! sorry not much happens in this chapter, but i thought i reached a good stopping point! also, many apologies for the high school musical reference- actually, no, i will not apologize for the high school musical reference, because it was delightful, negative apologies for that! hope you enjoyed! chapters are titled after the seven stages of pimple-chan anxiety. <3
> 
> (yo, here's a petition to support blm: http://chng.it/HvYRhjrLYZ)


	5. Existential Dread

“I can’t believe we didn’t notice that Gin-san was walking Sadaharu,” Shinpachi says, gently tugging on two of Sadaharu’s large, pointy teeth. They remain firmly closed around Gintoki’s waist. “Sadaharu’s literally the biggest, most obvious dog I’ve ever seen. How did we miss him? And did he really have to have his mouth open when Gin-san came flying at him? Jeez…” Another tug does nothing to sway Sadaharu’s will. “What a vindictive dog.”

“Uh, listen. Shinpachi,” Tsukuyo says carefully. “I’m gonna take Sarutobi home, she’s... Well. She’s kinda having an existential crisis right now.”

Shinpachi looks at Sacchan. Sacchan mumbles, “Am I the S?” 

He nods reluctantly.

Pulling the shinobi’s arm over her shoulder, Tsukuyo asks, “Are y’all gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Don't worry. We’ll be fine.”

“Seems like you and Gintoki are having a pretty bad morning.” 

Sadaharu’s teeth lock ever tighter—Gintoki’s white kimono is starting to turn a worrying shade of pink. “I...guess you could say that,” mumbles Shinpachi.

She hesitates. “Y’know...Y'know, Sarutobi could probably make it home on her own, now that I’m thinking about it. She’ll be okay. She’s a trained assassin. It’s no big deal."

"Tsukuyo-san..."

Her brow creases with determination. "I'd like to help ya out. I could stay, it ain't any trouble.”

“No, really—no need, Tsukuyo-san.” Shinpachi throws her a tired smile. “Thank you, but we’re alright, seriously. Get Sacchan-san home. I’ll take care of Gin-san.”

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

Tsukuyo glances once more at Gintoki’s legs, sticking vertically out of Sadaharu’s mouth, then nods tentatively at Shinpachi and turns to walk down the street, Sacchan leaning heavily on her for support. Shinpachi watches their conjoined silhouettes steadily shrink until they’re only a speck on the horizon.

He wishes Pimple-chan would steadily shrink until she was only a speck on the horizon.

“Sadaharu, you have to let Gin-san go, he probably won’t survive for much longer without air,” he reminds the giant dog, pulling at Sadaharu’s jaws—they don’t budge. It’s a lovely, crisp morning. A slight breeze makes him shiver even with the sun shining down on his back. “Come on, Sadaharu—he can’t give me advice if he’s dead.”

Sadaharu is unmoved.

“Sadaharu!” Shinpachi says sternly, then holds his hands up in a placating gesture when the dog growls at him. “Fine, fine. Sorry. But.. Well, you know what else Gin-san can’t do if he’s dead?”

Sadaharu tilts his head. Gintoki’s legs flop listlessly to the side.

“He can’t feed you,” Shinpachi continues sinisterly. “Or walk you, or cuddle you, or pick up your poo.” 

“Or,” he adds, at Sadaharu’s unimpressed, muffled bark, “stop Katsura-san from fluffing your belly whenever he comes by to visit. You know how he always tells Katsura-san to leave you alone? You know how he distracts him with UNO and Dragon Bozu and charades?”

Sadaharu nods. Gintoki’s legs swing up and down.

“That wouldn’t happen anymore. You’d be entirely—and I mean entirely—at Katsura-san’s belly-fluffing mercy. You’d-”

Before he can even finish his sentence, Sadaharu is spitting Gintoki out onto the street, patting frantically at his chest and trying to perform what looks like CPR. Letting out a relieved sigh, Shinpachi lightly pushes Sadaharu’s paws off of Gintoki and assesses him.

He’s covered in dog spit. And blood. Lots of blood. Aren’t head wounds supposed to bleed a lot? Maybe that’s why.

“Sadaharu, I thought this fic was supposed to be about my tragedy. The tragedy of my and Pimple-chan’s love,” says Shinpachi. “But I think Gin-san’s morning might be becoming more tragic than mine. I also think it’s unfair that he’s only had three lines of dialogue so far and he’s _still_ stealing the show. All he’s done is get knocked unconscious and bleed. It’s really unfair. And, actually, pretty spiteful of him. Don’t you think so too, Sadaharu?”

There’s no response; Sadaharu has one large, fluffy ear pressed to Gintoki’s chest, listening for a heartbeat. He waits, then jumps around, then listens again, then barks worriedly.

“Figures,” Shinpachi mutters, grabbing Gintoki’s wrist to feel for a pulse. “You don’t care either. You- Oh. He’s alive, by the way. Who knows how. Probably plot armor.”

He and Sadaharu drag Gintoki out of the street to go sit in front of the dango shop. A pretty scary-looking trail of blood follows in their wake—head wounds bleed a lot, Shinpachi reminds himself, that’s all, they bleed a _lot_ —but thankfully doesn’t freak out any passersby. Probably because there aren’t any passersby to freak out. 

First, there was Kyuubei’s sword-brandishing, then Hijikata’s mayo-chasing, then Kagura and Soyo, who didn’t really offend anyone other than Shinpachi. Then, Sacchan and Tsukuyo’s knife fight, which created so much collateral damage that—upon leaning Gintoki against the side of the dango shop—Shinpachi discovers at least twenty kunai stuck deeply into the wood there. If that weren’t enough to deter anyone thinking about walking down this particular street, seeing a fully grown man soaring through the air and landing in a gigantic dog’s mouth probably sealed the deal.

Shinpachi sighs and refuses Pimple-chan’s gentle words of comfort—as much as he’s fallen for her, to listen to her now would be to descend completely into madness. Instead, he shakes Gintoki’s shoulder, calling his name in the hopes of waking him up. Sadaharu whines pitifully and beats his large tail against the ground.

A minute or two later, and Gintoki still hasn’t shown signs of stirring.

“He’s normally so resilient,” Shinpachi tells Sadaharu. “This is hardly the worst beating he’s ever taken—I wonder why he’s not waking up.”

Sadaharu whines again, then quiets down, his ears flicking to attention.

“What is it, Sadaharu?” Shinpachi pokes aimlessly at Gintoki’s cheek. “Did you think of a way to revive him? Or do you just need to poop?”

Sadaharu turns this way and that, spinning in a tight circle and then crouching lightly next to Gintoki.

“I bet you just need to poop. I bet Gin-san didn’t even do a good job of walking you, and hasn’t let you poop yet. I bet if you did poop, he didn’t pick it up, and it’s just plopped on the ground somewhere. I bet someone stepped in it and is having a terrible morning right now.”

Sadaharu’s large, fluffy face contorts slightly.

“Well, that’s just too bad,” Shinpachi continues heatedly, picking up steam. “Because they’re not the only ones! I’m having a terrible morning too! A really terrible morning! And Gin-san’s not helping, or anything, he’s just lying there like he’s asleep! Or dead, all bloody and useless, and not moving—he’s not moving, why’s he not moving? If he weren’t so _useless—_ he’d—dammit! Goddammit, why am I worrying about him? Stupid, useless- Useless old man!” Shinpachi yells, with abject frustration. He squeezes the fabric of his hakama tightly in his fists, then realizes, with a jolt, that his eyes are wet. Sniffling, he quickly reaches up and wipes them with his sleeve. Sadaharu growls. It sounds vaguely strained.

He sniffles again, saying, “I’m- Ah. Sorry. I’m sorry you had to see that, Sadaha-”

With a final, effortful push, Sadaharu shits on the ground next to Gintoki.

“SADAHARU!” Shinpachi screams, horrified, and tries to drag Gintoki out of the way before any shit can land on him. Suddenly, as the putrid, mind-bending smell acquaints itself with his nostrils, he sees Gintoki’s flare and then his eyes are slamming open and he’s awake and flailing around unhelpfully, gasping, making a face like he’s about to puke.

“Wha-!” Gintoki chokes out. A tear slides out of Shinpachi’s eye and evaporates in the stink of Sadaharu’s shit; Sadaharu observes all of this with smug satisfaction. Distantly, Shinpachi acknowledges that if Kagura were here, she would’ve asked Sadaharu if his shit went well, then ruffled his fur proudly at the affirmative answer. At the moment, he’s kind of feeling inclined to do the same.

“G-Gin-san,” blubbers Shinpachi, then throws his arms around Gintoki’s neck, sending them both crashing to the ground, perilously close to Sadaharu’s impressive addition to Kabukicho’s scenery. “You’re alive!”

“The hell! Was I not before?! Why is- What?” He pats with feverish insistence at Shinpachi’s back, trying ineffectually to both push him off and roll them away from the heaping pile of dog shit.

“I’m so glad to see you, Gin-san!” Shinpachi sobs. “You won’t believe the morning I’ve had, Gin-san, I’ve had such a terrible morning-”

“ _Y_ _ou’ve_ had a terrible morning?! What about me? I-” Shinpachi’s tearful sobs become more intense, soaking the shoulder of Gintoki’s kimono quickly and thoroughly. “Okay, okay, never mind, yes, you’ve had a terrible morning—Patsuan? Hey, Patsuan, what made your morning terrible? Um, could you- Why- Why are you crying so much?”

Shinpachi feels the ground shake as Sadaharu turns around eagerly, once, twice, three times, lying down and curling around himself in a huge, dog-shaped ball. He clenches his hands into the fabric of Gintoki’s shirt.

"Hey," Gintoki says softly, "Shinpachi?" 

“Aneue says crying is for little bitches.” 

Gintoki stops patting him on the back. “Um.”

Shinpachi pauses to sniffle loudly, then continues, “For little bitches who don’t suppress or ignore their feelings. I’m not a repressing little bitch, Gin-san—I’m a healthily emotional little bitch.”

Finally, Gintoki manages to scoot them a safe distance away from Sadaharu’s shit; its stench still permeates the air, thick and rank, but gets marginally better once they’re situated upwind of it. He rubs Shinpachi’s back comfortingly. Tentatively, the wreckage of his terrible, pimply morning starts to piece itself back together again. “That you are, Patsuan. It’s okay, let it all out.” 

Shinpachi sniffles again and moves his eyes to a dry patch of kimono, which is quickly marinated in even more tears. Gintoki mutters, quietly, “Maybe we could all stand to be a little more like you.”

“Did..” A moment of startled disbelief, then a smile begins to spread tentatively across Shinpachi’s face. “Did you just agree with me, Gin-san?”

“No,” says Gintoki, because he’s not a healthily emotional little bitch. Shinpachi stifles the wet laugh that escapes his lungs into Gintoki's shoulder.

“So, anyway, back to the matter at hand, yeah? Yeah, okay—Patsuan, why’re you crying all over me?”

“Oh, right.”

“Yeah, right. Weren’t you saying something about a pimple?”

The hollow ache of dread drops suddenly and insistently into his sternum, exactly as he remembers it from his time back at temple school in the days leading up to a particularly intimidating exam. He shivers. Why is a pimple making him feel such deep, encompassing anxiety?

“Oh, right,” he repeats, and hugs Gintoki tighter, focusing on the bright sunshine, on the sounds of Sadaharu’s quiet snores floating dreamily into the peaceful morning air. “Pimple-chan.”

“Pimple-chan,” Gintoki says dubiously.

“Pimple-chan,” Shinpachi confirms, and his voice echoes slightly in the empty street. The silence that follows is warmer than he thought it would be. “Don’t worry, Gin-san. I’ve realized, you don’t have to rub it in. Pimple-chan isn’t going to be a repeat of Pandemonium-san.”

Gintoki pulls away and claps a consoling hand onto his shoulder, smiling sympathetically. “Sure. I believe you. Just remember; everything’s gonna be okay, Shinpachi-kun. It’ll all be over soon.”

“Gin-san...what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

His question is waved aside. “Oh, nothing sinister.”

“Now that you say that, I’m starting to think it means something sinister.”

Gintoki waves again, lazily. “No, no, nothing sinister.”

At that moment, over Gintoki’s shoulder, Shinpachi sees the owner of the dango shop hesitantly stick his head out of the door and look around. His eyes widen upon seeing Gintoki’s curly, white hair, and then widen even more upon seeing how much blood it’s drenched in; then, impossibly, even more at the kunai peppering the side of his shop. The pile of dog shit is next to catch his attention—the putrid stench brings him to clasp a hand over his nose and mouth. Then, Sadaharu, massive and slumbering and curled neatly into a ball.

It is concern for the owner’s eyes, and the fact that they might possibly pop out of his skull, that drives Shinpachi to action. He wiggles his eyebrows, trying to communicate that he has everything under control—the owner’s eyebrows wiggle back, though it seems less deliberate and more involuntarily horrified.

“Shinpachi-kun? Why do you look so constipated?”

A few moments more of precise, decisive wiggling are enough to send the owner scurrying back into the shop.

“Uh, nothing, Gin-san,” Shinpachi says. “Nothing sinister.”

“Oh. Well. I’m glad you agree.” Gintoki shoots a careful look over his shoulder and seems relieved to discover that the only sinister things he sees are Sadaharu and his shit.

“Yes, yes,” Shinpachi says, impatient, “Enough of that. I need your advice, Gin-san. Urgently.”

“About the pimple?” Gintoki asks, and inserts his pinkie finger into his nose. 

“Yes. I’ve become conflicted, Gin-san. You see, on one hand, Pimple-chan is kind to me like no one else is; on the other…Well..” He trails off reluctantly.

“Pimple-chan is a pimple,” Gintoki supplies. Shinpachi bobs his head in hesitant agreement.

The skin around Pimple-chan’s proud throne on Shinpachi’s cheek feels tight, stretched out, baked in dried tears and morning sunlight—and he can tell his eyes are swelling up from all the crying. His back is leaned up against the side of the dango shop, where the wood is warm from being in the sun, and his eyes are dazzled with light that he’s too tired to move out of. His brain is curled up, warm and weightless, in his head. The sunshine melts Gintoki’s eyes into deep syrupy pools of pure crimson; they match the drying blood on his hair and his kimono and his face.

“Shinpachi-kun,” he says, closing his eyes and pointing his face at the sun, “you’re like a fish.”

“What?” Shinpachi says.

“You’re like a fish that’s been left out,” Gintoki continues. He wobbles slightly where he sits, also leaning against the dango shop. “That’s gotten all gross, flopped on the ground because it wasn’t used or thrown out right, dreading the rise of the sun because that means you’ll start to shrivel and wither. And stink,” he adds quietly. “Stink everything up.”

He pauses, glancing over at Shinpachi, and winces at the dawning incredulity on his face. “Or, wait. Hold on-”

“What do you mean I’m like a fish? Are you saying I smell? Are you just insulting me? I need advice, Gin-san, not some crap about me being a fish. Do you want me to cry again? I’m gonna cry.”

“No, no,” says Gintoki, waving his arms around frustratedly. “Shit. No. Wrong metaphor. Sorry, wrong metaphor, I get mixed up sometimes—I mean—you can’t expect Gin-san to give good advice all the time, can you? That would be unreasonable. Really unreasonable. Just give me a minute. I’ll think of something better.”

“Okay,” Shinpachi says, and gives him a minute, taking his glasses off and polishing them with his sleeve. 

He attacks the right lens first, where there’s a thin spray of dust—smoothed off, and it’s shining again—then the left lens, which has more dust and a couple of fingerprints that appear when he holds it up to the light. A careful swipe of his sleeve clears them away.

Gintoki still hasn’t said anything. He frowns, setting his glasses back on his nose. 

“Gin-san, I can’t believe you compared me to a stinky fish.”

“I told you I got it wrong, alright?!” Gintoki yells, whipping his head up to glare at Shinpachi. “It’s not my fault you didn’t pick up on what I meant! Ungrateful brat!”

Far too exhausted to be mad, Shinpachi asks, “Well, then? What did you mean?”

“It’s like this, Patsuan,” Gintoki says, leaning forward, suddenly exuding an air of such unquestionable authority and absolute confidence that Shinpachi finds his spine straightening up, in spite of himself. “There are things that are important, and there are things that aren’t. And there are things that are a little bit important, too, but not as important as the important things, but they still fall into the important category so my point stands. You understand?”

“Huh?” says Shinpachi.

“That,” Gintoki continues, pointing at Pimple-chan, “Goes under the category of things that aren’t important. Shinpachi, no one gives a shit about your stupid pimple.”

Shinpachi’s heart drops. He looks at his knees.

“So why do you?”

He looks up again. “Huh?”

“No one gives a shit about it,” he repeats, crossing his arms. “So why do you?”

“I...”

“It doesn’t change anything about you; it doesn’t affect anyone else, either. Nobody’s thinking any different about you because you’ve got a pimple; besides, it’s gonna go away in a couple of days, and you’ll forget it ever existed. It’s not important.”

“Gin-san..”

Uncrossing one of his arms, Gintoki points a stern finger at him. “That’s right. Don't doubt Gin-san's wisdom.”

“But, Kagura-chan made fun of Pimple-chan,” Shinpachi blurts.

“Did she make fun of Pimple-chan, or did she make fun of you acting like your pimple is a sentient being?”

Shinpachi thinks back. “Both,” he says decisively.

Gintoki nods, and nods, then nods again—all very wisely and authoritatively, Shinpachi observes, feeling a speck of anxious doubt start blossoming in his chest.

“That’s because Kagura-chan likes to be cool,” says Gintoki, “And also to insult you. She’s just teasing—she doesn’t think any less of you because you’ve got a pimple.” He frowns and adds thoughtfully, “Though she might think less of you for falling in love with the pimple.”

Carefully, Shinpachi ignores the last part. “I guess that makes sense?" he says.

Gintoki nods again. "Of course it does."

"But...Gin-san, I still don’t get what you meant about the fish. Am I the fish? Is Pimple-chan the fish? Were you just calling me smelly?”

Gintoki smiles. Obscured by the glare of sunshine on Shinpachi's lenses, his eyes are warm and desolate as he looks at the sun on the street. They're just warm, in the next instant, as he looks at Shinpachi. “Yeah, Patsuan.”

“What do you mean ’yeah’?” Shinpachi asks dubiously. "You were calling me smelly?"

"No, alright?" Gintoki says, exasperated. "Jeez. Teenage cherry boys are always so insecure. I was saying, Pimple-chan is. Because...Because she’s stinking everything up, but you can just get rid of her.”

“Uh..how?”

“Now that I think about it,” says Gintoki, “I’m pretty sure Zura has some acne cream—he always puts it on before he goes to sleep. He says a samurai’s skin must be flawless and beautiful, and as free of pimples as his hair is free of dandruff.”

“I _knew_ it!” Shinpachi shouts. At Gintoki’s questioning glance, he elaborates, “I ran into Katsura-san earlier today, and I asked him, I asked him for help! But he didn’t even mention that he had something like that!”

“Yeah, Zura’s real unhelpful like that.” Gintoki digs around in his nose with a finger. “You wanna go steal some? I know where his place is.”

“Well...” Shinpachi says, then remembers Katsura’s face of righteous indignation and his smug laughter; his incessant repetition, the countless variations of “it’s not Zura, it’s Katsura!”, his proudly crossed arms. 

“Yes. Let’s go,” Shinpachi says grimly.

“I haven’t finished walking Sadaharu yet,” Gintoki reminds him. “He gets cranky if he doesn’t get his morning aerobics in—it’s important for a dog’s health, you know. And he shits on my futon if I don’t take him out.”

Shinpachi leaps dashingly to his feet; the breeze is a bracing chill against his face, whipping his hair into gentle magnificence. “You can walk him on the way there. We’re on a mission, Gin-san! Things like a dog’s poo cannot get in the way.”

“Shinpachi-kun, you’re stepping in Sadaharu’s shit.”

“No matter!” Shinpachi yelps bravely, and frantically wipes his sock against a shitless part of the street. “Onward, Gin-san! Always onward!”

The slumbering, snowy boulder stirs slightly; Sadaharu opens one large, luminous eye, showcases his fearsome set of teeth in a huge yawn, and sits up. He holds out one paw. 

Grudgingly, Gintoki grabs it and clambers to his feet.

Unbidden, Shinpachi feels a smile start spreading goofily across his face; he nods to Gintoki to lead the way and Gintoki sways bloodlessly into the street, Shinpachi striding next to him, a bounce in his step, Sadaharu shaking the ground with his mighty feet. It’s still frightfully early in the morning; the dango shop is still peppered generously with kunai, the owner is still traumatized, and there’s still an enormous pile of shit in the street. He’s still pimply and harassed and shoeless and weary. 

But at least he’s not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so ends the pimple saga!! i was fiddling with this chapter for a very, very long time, terribly sorry it took me so long to post it—i hope it's alright! thank you so so much to everyone who's read this, and to everyone who's left a comment! all your comments inspire me to keep writing!!! i really hope you enjoyed shinpachi's bizarre adventure! <3 
> 
> (and a petition to sign to support blm! http://chng.it/5J85DyWkGh)


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